


still here I carry my old delicious burdens

by All_the_damned_vampires



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU Fuckery, Anal Sex, Boyking!Sam, Chains (under-utilized), Demon!Dean, Hell, Implied past prostitution (Dean), M/M, Pining, magical lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_the_damned_vampires/pseuds/All_the_damned_vampires
Summary: He was on an endless hunt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tifaching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tifaching/gifts).



> Written for tifaching for the 2016 SPN Xmas Exchange. I was given this delicious prompt: There's a road through hell. Or maybe it's topside. Dean can't tell the difference sometimes.
> 
> A thousand thanks to quickreaver and museaway for beta-ing, creative pep talks and everything brainstorm-wonderful.
> 
> Title taken from "Song for the Open Road" by Walt Whitman

He was on an endless hunt.

Slick black road, bleeding away in a skinny line toward the horizon. Sky gunmetal gray, if it was dawn or dusk Dean never knew.

The sun never comes up in Hell.

Bitter cold wind outside, but Baby was purring-warm, heat pumping out the vents, rock music pumping out of the speakers.  The engine rumbled, vibrations coming up through the leather seats under Dean's ass, making him sigh and spread his legs wider, denim rasping against the seat, pleasant buzz in his groin.  He kept his eyes on the horizon line.

Like a stone thrown in a tranquil pond, the very ground seemed to ripple around Dean and the car.  Demons, and darker things, moving away from the biggest bad they knew.  Slinking away to the farther reaches of Hell.

Dean let them.  No place really to run in Hell, unless they tried to smoke out topside.  They'd cross paths eventually, torn to scraps on the serrated edge of his knife.

He had all the time in the world. Following a road that didn't end and never changed.

Except he was coming to a crossroads.  Up ahead, the asphalt smear of the road eeled out on either side, forming a fat, black X.  On the sinister hand side of the crossing, a neat little café  lit up with red and green lights.

"What…in…the…hell," Dean muttered.  Then he grinned at his own pun, looking over automatically at the empty passenger side of the car.  The smile faded from his face.

He pulled up to the building and got out, hitching up the collar on his leather jacket against the bite of the cold.  It was a coffee shop.  In Hell.  Impossible, but somehow still there. Dean winked as he passed the mermaid logo on the sign and let himself in.

It was empty nearly, pretty much as Dean would expect.  He couldn't think of any demon lingering to sip a latte, not with the sound of Dean's car rumbling closer, soft threatening growl of oblivion coming.  Some thin, shadow-taste of earthly pleasure wasn't worth a final death.

And no demon would have remained to be served by the tall man now slouched behind the counter.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean said.

The man stiffened.  The straps of his green apron clung to his broad shoulders, wisps of brown hair curling over the edge of his collar.  Like the coffee shop, he didn't look at all like he fit Hell.

Unless you looked him in the eyes.

"Can I help you?"

"A coffee shop? In Hell?  Damn Sam, I hope you didn’t go to a crossroads demon for the mortgage."

"The specials are on the board," Sam said, mouth tight.

"We're really gonna do this?  Play pretend like a couple of kids?  This is mature."

"As mature as running across the length and breadth of Hell," Sam said evenly, "to get away from me."

"Demon hunting. Not running."

"Sure you are."

"I'll have a coffee. Black."

"Now who's playing pretend?" But Sam turned to the counter, and poured a cup.  Handed it over to his brother.  The fingertips brushed as Sam transferred the paper cup into Dean's hands, coffee sloshing dangerously at the rim as Dean nearly jerked back.

"You conjured up a fake-Starbucks to get my attention, Sam," Dean replied.  His mouth curved around the lip of the cup, eyes fluttering shut as the coffee slid over his tongue.  He hadn't had anything like it since….since…

Sam snorted. "Hedonist."

"Tastes real."

"It was easy." Crackle of black fire in Sam's eyes.

"Makes me think of all those demons crawling out of Hell," Dean murmured. "They think they're going to focus on whatever dark plans they scratched up down here, but before they know it they've been seduced by smoothies and strip clubs and 300 thread count sheets. Half of them go A.W.O.L. a minute after they hit their first drive-thru."

"All the gifts that God bestowed on Man," Sam said, tone ironic.

"Not God," Dean snapped. "We made those things ourselves."

Sam sighed.  He rounded the counter, then stopped in mid-step as Dean flinched back towards the door.

"What do you want, Sam?"

"You thinking of going topside, Dean?"

"No," Dean said.

"Does it offend you that I compared you to them?"

"If the shoe fits," Dean said easily. "Hunters up there will take care of the ones that get out. I got the ones Hellside. Thanks for the coffee, Sam."

"Wait."  They were chest to chest in a heartbeat, one of Dean's wrists held tight in Sam's grasp.

"Let me go."

He wouldn't bruise, not in Hell, but Dean pulled against Sam's grip just the same.  Watched the flare of his little brother's nostrils, the pink flush of anger in his cheeks.  The internal battle between who Sam was and who Sam wanted to be.

Sam let go of Dean's wrist.

"Don't come after me," Dean said, straightening the cuffs on his jacket.  His heart was beating hard, but he swaggered out the door, back into the lonely chill of Hell.  The could still taste coffee on his tongue.

The coffee shop had vanished before he was even half-way down the road.


	2. Chapter 2

The road now wasn't like the road then. The road topside.  Dean didn't get to watch the sun make its journey across the sky, to squint at the trees and clouds in between the billboards and the trash.  To climb out of Baby after a long day and unkink every muscle in his back.

The sky stayed gray and the road never ended.

Nearing never o'clock, Dean surprised two demons crossing the blacktop, eyes wide, armadillo-comical as they struggled to avoid being clipped by the Impala's bumper.  Quick hop out and one unsatisfying knife fight later, Dean was crouched down examining his car for nonexistent damage.

He got back in and drove on.

It could have been hours later, or years, and Dean cursed as the road up ahead split again, burned-black X in the middle of his sight, the illusion of choice: left, right or straight.  On the left, a charming little 50s diner, blue and pink neon glinting against the forever-twilight of Hell's sky.

"Cute," Dean smirked.

He pulled into the parking lot, killed the engine.  No other cars, of course.  No demons sitting in the kitschy booths that lined the windows, sipping peanut butter milkshakes.  A bell rang over the door as Dean let himself in.

"One of these days I'm just going to turn left and keep going," he called out, looking around the diner. His boots scuffed ash on the black and white tile floors.

"I'm sure I could arrange for you to circle around," Sam called from behind the counter and Dean scowled.

"I told you—" Dean's voice cut off.  Pies in the display case.  Cherry, apple, chocolate, lemon meringue.  Dean almost pressed his nose to the glass, to take in the crisp, brown crusts and crumbles.

"Care to stay a spell?" Sam's voice wasn't as steady as it should have been.

"This is cheap, even for you." Dean's tongue poked out.  Swiped at his lips.

"Whatever works," Sam replied.  There was a pie cutter in his hand, gleaming metal.  The edge sharper than it should have been. "What'll you have?"

"Apple.  And chocolate."

Sam cut him a slice of each.

Easy, to slide into a booth, Dean on one side, Sam on the other.  Easier still, to flake pie onto the fork and into the mouth.  Dean hummed around a bite, eyelashes fluttering, then looked away when Sam's gaze darkened with hunger.

" _Still_?"

"I _told_ you."

"Tastes real," Dean said, evading the issue.  It did. Cinnamon spice melted in his mouth.  Sam was drumming his long fingers on the counter top, but he didn't seem restless.  He looked content.  If one didn't look at his eyes too closely.

"This is nice…having you here," Sam said softly.

"I'll be full eventually."

"No stomachaches in Hell," Sam said with satisfaction. "You can eat forever…if you like."

"This your bait?  Coffee and pie?"

"Consider it an attempt at wooing."

"Sam—"

"We're here, aren’t we?" Sam asked, voice tight. "In Hell.  So why not?"

"Sam—"

"Plates empty," Sam said and it was true.  Dean glanced down, licked his lips.  Felt like a glutton for wanting more.  More pie, more warmth.  More of Sam's voice, low in his ear.  More of everything.

"Time to hit the road."

"I can bring you more."

"Nah, better be—oof!"

It was like being scooped up like a hurricane.  Sam's big hands on Dean's waist, lifting him like he was nothing and swinging him down to rest on the table top.  Pie plates and silverware clattering to the floor.  Sam's hips were narrow, but the pressed Dean's legs wide as he slotted between them.  It left an ache in Dean's thighs.  He liked it.

"Stop."

"You don't want me to," Sam whispered, mouth inches away from Dean's.

"Oh that's right, you can read my mind," Dean said and watched his little brother's flinch.  Sam didn't let go, but he retreated, eyes shuttering with hurt. "Let me up."

"No."

Dean snapped.  He let his own eyes flash black, dark as tar, although nothing like the black flames snapping in Sam's eyes.  He shoved hard, with body and mind, and Sam stumbled back, coming to his feet and finally gripping the counter for balance.

Dean scrambled to his feet.  His cock was throbbing between his legs, hatefully reminding him of how it had felt to have Sam above him.  He wanted to run, but knew if he did, Sam would be on him in an instant.

His brother's eyes were on fire with need.

"You're no match for me," Sam hissed.  Then he frowned, eyes wide with guilt.

"I'll be seeing you, Sam," Dean said, pasting on a cocky smile.  He carefully sauntered out the door, but kept his eyes on Sam.  Climbed into the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

The diner disappeared in his rear view mirror.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no way to measure time, but Dean had a feeling it wasn't that long before he was once again coming to a crossroads.  He sighed, arm hooked over the open window, wondering if he should drive right by.

"Chances are, it'll just be up ahead," Dean muttered through gritted teeth.  He parked the car.

And walked into the heated warmth of a bookstore.

"The way to a man's heart isn't always through his stomach," Sam said, coming out of the stacks, and Dean grinned at that.

"What's next? A strip club? A gun store? How many ways are you going to conjure to try and make me happy? Make me come 'round?" Dean asked.

"As many as it takes," Sam replied, crossing his arms.  Seeing him, as always, was a warm punch to the gut.  Seeing Sam felt like home, like the one thing Dean desperately wanted.  It was only once they were together that they chafed like two ill-fitting puzzle pieces.  Neither willing to wittle down their sharp edges.

"You should have stuck with the pie," Dean said, eyes perusing the nearest shelf. Kerouac.  Of course.

"You gonna keep running?"

"I'm doing a job," Dean retorted, running his thumb along the spine of a book.  In a flash, Sam was crowding up behind him, hot breath on the back of his neck.

"Hell doesn't need an exterminator."  Sam nosed at the short golden hair at the back of Dean's neck.

"Something to do."

"You don't need to do anything."

"You want to sit on a throne in Hell, that's your business." Dean replied, easing away from Sam.  His brother's eyes were wide and shiny with hurt.  Dean sighed. "What do you want?"

"I…"

"Truth, Sam."

"You by my side." It came out in an eager rush.  The shade of Sam falling away until all Dean could see was the greedy-eyed monster.  The one he'd been indulging since he was four years old.

"Throne built for two?"

"Whatever you like," Sam said, frowning slightly.  It was a familiar speech, and one that hadn't worked on Dean before. "I can give you whatever you want.  You can have anything you want. We can make Hell anything we want it to be. Together, Dean."

Dean was quiet.  He looked at his brother.  A mature man, full grown, adult in body and face.  With the eyes of a hopeful, spoiled child.

"Pass."

The door slammed shut as Dean turned to walk out.  He turned back around, putting his back against the wood. Sam was stalking towards him, hair blown out in a crackle of static, fire igniting in his eyes.

"You gonna show me what it will be like?' Dean asked, voice shaky.

"Yes," Sam whispered. The bookstore fell away.  Stone walls rose up, granite shot through with streaks of black.  Torches ringed the walls. A throne room, complete with two chairs of obsidian.  Dean stumbled as the door melted away, the floor stretching out forever, walls encasing him.  Nowhere to run.

Sam stepped up to him.  There was a crown of black fire, burning above his head.  He reached out and pulled Dean in.  Stared down at him a moment, soft mouth working soundlessly, before he surged down to take Dean's mouth in a kiss.

"You gonna shove me away?" Sam asked, licking idly at Dean's full lower lip.  Sam tasted like iron and ash, and Dean swayed into him, dizzy with how good it felt to be in his brother's grip. "You gonna run?"

"Not this time, Sam," Dean said and opened his mouth to his brother.

He let Sam trail kisses across his lips, down his chin and neck.  Let him shove Dean's jacket aside, rip away the t-shirt so he could mouth and bite at Dean's shoulders.  He pushed Dean back, walking him with hungry bumps of his hips until they both came to rest against a solid stone slab.

Dean looked over his shoulder, then arched his brow. "An altar? Really?"

"Appropriate," Sam panted, tumbling Dean onto it.  Then he was tugging off Dean's pants, slotting back between his big brother's legs.  A change in the air and Sam was naked too, rearing up to cover Dean with his body, mouth gnawing everywhere Sam could reach.  Dean skittered back over the stone top of the altar, arrested by Sam's hand on his ankle.

"You said you wouldn't run."

"Jesus Sam, you're gonna split me apart."

"I'll be gentle," Sam promised, even as he yanked Dean back down, his bare skin scraping against the rough stone.  Big hands spreading his thighs wide and Dean trembled as he watched Sam looking at him, getting his greedy fill.

"There'd better be lube in Hell."

"I've got you," Sam said, and although his grip and eyes were hard, his voice was gentle.  Two wet fingers probing at Dean's ass, suddenly slippery with oil, and Dean was arching up, letting Sam in, the buzz of being touched there making his head spin.

"Not your first time…"

"No," Dean panted.  He canted his hips up, taking more of Sam's fingers. Watched the jealous pleasure in Sam's burning eyes.

"Who?"

"Boys gotta eat," Dean quipped, but there was pain in Sam's face, in the muscle jerking in his clenched jaw.  He slid his fingers out and Dean groaned at the loss, then hissed out a gasp of pleasure-pain when Sam replaced his fingers with the thick, hot bar of his cock.

"Dammit, Sammy."

"Dean," Sam hissed.  He was pressing in, inexorable, spreading Dean's insides wide.  Dean rolled his hips, helped his little brother's cock along, the burn inside him roiling up through his belly, his blood, making his whole body buzz with pleasure.

"Fuck me, Sammy," Dean gasped and then let out a yell as Sam let go of any semblance of control.  His brother bent down, nipping and laving at Dean's neck, his hips pistoning furiously.  Dean arched up, meeting him stroke for stroke.  Against the firelight, he watched the shadow of wings emerge from his brother's shoulders; snapping into existence as Sam threw his head back, letting out an unearthly scream of pleasure. Then Dean closed his eyes and let himself fall into that age old rhythm, as he and Sam came together.


	4. Chapter 4

"You'll stay," Sam said, voice small and hopeful.

He was, at last, sitting on his throne.  He'd traded his jeans and plaid, his name tag and apron, for robes of black.  Wings spread wide, crown of fire on his head, it was the Sam that had been in hiding for so long. The Boy-King of Hell.

"No," Dean said.  He was dressed again.  Easy enough for Sam to conjure up another t-shirt.  His body felt loose and pleasurable.  He wondered how long the sensation would last, in Hell.

"Why not?" Sam asked, sulky as a child.

"I don't want this."

"There's nothing out there for you," Sam argued.  He surged out of his throne and stalked towards Dean, robes swirling around his bare feet.  He reached out tenderly. "Rule by my side."

"Not interested in reenacting Medieval Times dinner theater," Dean said evenly.

"Hell is ours."

"And Hell shouldn't be," Dean retorted, anger finally making his voice sharp.

"We can do anything we want!"

"We fight the big bad, remember?  Evil isn't us! Sam, why would you sign on to be the very thing you kill?"

"I can have you," Sam said stubbornly. "I can have anything and everything. So I can have you…like this?"

"Is that what this is about? Fucking your brother?"

"I know you feel it, too," Sam said, placing both his hands on Dean's shoulders. "It isn't me alone."

"No.  It never was.  But Sam—"

"You always turned me away. Before…"

"Before you were too young.  And there was Dad.  And then…other stuff.  But Sam, believe me, it was never because I thought wanting you was evil."

"Anything we want," Sam breathed, his lips brushing Dean's mouth.

"No."

Sam's eyes snapped open, flashing fire. "I can make you."

Manacles snapped out of nowhere, ringing Dean's ankles and wrists.  Heavy iron at his neck.  He stumbled to his knees, chains dragging him down.  Knelt at Sam's feet, blinking up at the satisfied smirk on his little brother's face.

"This what you want?" Dean asked.  There was that glimmer of hesitation, the Sam who was and the Sam who could be, fighting for supremacy.  Finally the chains eased away and Sam turned his back, shoulders shaking.

"What do you want?" Sam whispered.

"I want things to be normal. Well, as close as they can come.  You and me, hunting things.  Not gods or monsters.  Just men."

"Just men," Sam said bitterly.  He turned and spread his wings.  Let his brother take in the full inhuman glory of him. "Is that what I am?"

"You're my brother," Dean said truthfully.  It was true.  Everything, all those trappings of power, as illusory as the coffee shop, as the diner.  Never the core of who Sam was. 

It hurt, waiting for Sam to figure that out.

Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder, then turned to leave.  An exit cleaved its way into the rock, almost as if Dean had willed it. "Be seeing you Sammy."


	5. Chapter 5

The road stretched out, bleak and dark, for a long time.  Dean hunted, here and there, but mostly he drove.  The highway was monotonous, but the music changed at his whim.  Baby purred with health, gas tank always full, and the heater on blast.  It wasn't as good as it could have been, but it was better than the alternative.

Dean's eyes slid over the passenger side of the car.

Finally, a long time later, Dean smiled as another intersection eased into view.  Black hatch mark carved into the land, road stretching out like wings on either side. _Finally_.

There was a lone figure standing at the crossroads.

Dean pulled up, window rolled down.  Bit back any hooker joke that might have passed his lips; this wasn't the time or place.  Sam was standing there, jeans and a hoodie and a beat up backpack, older than he'd been all those years ago, but still with a wary wan-ness to his turned-down face.

"Heya, Sammy."

"Hey Dean," Sam said and slid into the passenger side of the car like no time in the world had passed, knees folded up in front of the dashboard. "On a hunt?"

"Trying," Dean said. "Hell's been thinned out a bit."

"No doubt," Sam replied dryly.  Then he said, tentative, "Mind if I come along?"

"Think you can get us topside?"

Sam looked up at his brother.  Black fire still burning in his eyes. Sam filled with all that power.

"For a while, yeah.  But…it won't last.  I'm…we're meant to be down here."

"For a while," Dean agreed.  He reached out, propped his arm along the back of the seat.  Hand on Sammy's shoulder.  He felt his brother startle in in pleasurable surprise. "Let's go."

Sam smiled.  A flicker of his eyelashes and the sky split sideways, midnight sky and stars peeking through.  The Impala roared forward, moving seamlessly from the road in Hell to some nameless highway on Earth.  A swirl of smoke and they were leaving Hell behind.

"Just for a while," Sam reminded Dean.

"Just for a while.  Let's see what Hell we can raise up here."

**Author's Note:**

> My recipient mentioned a dislike of "AUs in general" and I immediately had to find some playful way to include a bunch of AU tropes in a Hell-fic. 
> 
> I'm probably an asshole? 
> 
> Regardless, I hope they found this story enjoyable.


End file.
